


Out of the Rain

by Yamx



Series: The Adventures of Nick Furry [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Team, Team Bonding, Team Fluff, catfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yamx/pseuds/Yamx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That was the problem with the 21st century, Steve thought. Everyone was cold and uncaring and selfish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sahiya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/gifts).



> Set a few weeks after the film ends, and assuming everyone's moved into Stark Tower and Thor has returned to New York. 
> 
> Written for Sahiya as a 2012 stocking stuffer. Happy 2013!
> 
> With thanks to Canaan and DameRuth for betaing.

Steve sat on a bench in Central Park, watching the world pass him by.

As usual.

He'd come here because he'd hoped of all the places in New York, the changes might not be so obvious in Central Park. Trees were trees, after all, and people were people. 

But even here, on a bench overlooking a lawn and part of a playground, the changes were inescapable. Not just the clothes people were wearing—or not wearing, in some cases. Not just the gadgets, though that was sort of disturbing—everyone was talking into a phone or fiddling with one of those tablet computers or at the very least leashed to some sort of music player with earphones. Couldn't people these days do _anything_ without electronics? Even those who were reading books were mostly reading them on e-readers. 

But the biggest change, the most glaring, the most hurtful, was the way people looked at each other. 

Or rather, the way they didn't. 

Everyone was hurrying along, focused on their gadgets or staring at their own feet. No one was looking around for friends, tipping his hat to a lady or making sure the elderly man in the frayed coat was all right carrying his groceries.

Steve had asked him if he could give him a hand, of course, but the man had just spat at him and mumbled something about youth today, thieves, and how he wasn't decrepit yet. 

Steve sighed. He supposed one couldn't blame people for not asking if that was a typical reaction. And one probably couldn't blame the man for reacting the way he had if he'd been given a hard time often enough. 

Steve had known real hunger during the Depression, but he'd never have thought anyone would stoop low enough to steal groceries from someone who clearly needed them just as badly.

That was the problem with the 21st century, he thought. Everyone was cold and uncaring and selfish and therefore everyone expected others to be cold and uncaring and selfish, as well, and if anyone ever made a friendly approach they were looked at with suspicion and rebuffed. 

It was a vicious cycle, and he didn't know how people—how he—could ever break out of it .

The sky darkened and a thunderclap rent the air. Heavy raindrops splashed on the gravel path. Steve sighed and got up, pulling his leather jacket closer around him.

Typical.

***

Tony was watching a film with Bruce, Thor, and Natasha, fiddling with his latest armor design on his tablet, discussing the new StarkPad marketing strategy with Pepper over the phone, and watching Clint cook dinner, but he still had plenty of braincells left to notice Steve slink—yes, _slink_ —towards his bedroom. "Hey, Cap, what's up?" he asked, while listening to Pepper explaining the problems she'd had buying ad time on Japanese networks.

Steve startled and—and Tony didn't miss this for a second—half-turned from them, so the bunched-up wet jacket under his left arm was partly hidden behind his bulk. "Um... nothing."

"Pepper, I'll have to call you back, Steve is lying to me!—No, yes, I'm certain.—No, I didn't know he could, either.—You, too. Bye!" When he turned back to Steve, the captain's cheeks were distinctly pink, and he was shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"So..." Tony leaped over the back of the couch while the others merely turned to watch them. "Out with it, then."

Steve swallowed. "Well, I..." He sighed. "I suppose you have a right to know." He put the jacket on the floor and let go. A pointy nose poked out, sniffing the room insecurely. A pair of triangular ears moved back and forth like antenna. A little head covered in disheveled black fur appeared. 

"It's a cat," Clint observed brilliantly, just as Tony was biting his tongue to avoid making the same comment. The feline in question squirmed out of the jacket and took cover under Bruce's armchair. 

"I—yeah." Steve pushed his wet hair back from his forehead. "I was out walking, and then the thunderstorm hit—"

"'Twas not me!" Thor said quickly. He was bending down to peer under Bruce's chair. "I'd have waited until you were safely returned to the tower." 

Steve acknowledged that with a nod. "Anyway, I saw him huddling under a hotdog cart, wet and miserable, and I thought—" He looked at Tony. "Sorry, I should have called you and asked."

Tony shrugged. "You don't need my permission."

"Actually, I do. You're my landlord. I need your permission to keep a pet."

Huh, so Steve was thinking permanent arrangement. And... landlord? Well, Tony guessed that was sort of true. Though, didn't most landlords charge rent and make schedules for cleaning the stairwell and whatnot? He shrugged. "Anyone allergic?" he asked the room at large. Everyone shook their heads. 

"I used to be," Steve said quietly. "Before..." he gestured to himself. "It was too bad. I always wanted a pet when I was a kid. To keep me company when Mom was at work and I was too sick to go to school." There was something dark in his eyes—a lonely little boy look that Tony knew too well from the mirror. 

"Right, then!" Tony said brightly. "First, we need to make sure your new friend doesn’t already have an owner. JARVIS?"

"I can't quite scan him while he's under Doctor Banner's chair. If he could perhaps be lured into the open?"

Steve extended a hand towards the cat and made a soft cooing noise that Tony would definitely tease him about later. "C'mere, boy." Bruce got up to get out of the way, but the cat didn't budge.

Clint reached to his cutting board and handed Steve a cube of cheese. "Here, try this."

Steve held the cheese out towards the cat. The little black nose wriggled excitedly. No wonder—the thing looked half starved. Tony started flipping through cat food reviews on his tablet. Surely someone had to be producing something with extra high calories to—ah. He placed an order for overnight delivery.

Slowly, step by step, the cat drew closer to Steve. Finally, he pounced on the cheese and hunkered behind Steve's knees to chow down. 

"JARVIS?" Tony asked.

"No microchip, sir."

"Microchip?" Steve looked up.

"A small transponder implanted in many pets at the neck, Captain Rogers. It contains a number which makes it possible to request the owner's contact information from a registry if the pet is found a stray. Alas, your cat has no such chip."

Steve frowned. "They put in a chip? Isn't that painful?" He gently rubbed the cat behind the ears, then along his thin black body. The small creature arched into the touch. Tony was strangely reminded of Dummy and the way the bot tended to push his camera into Tony's shoulder seeking affection—usually at the worst possibly moment.

"Hardly at all, Captain Rogers. The chip is only the size of a grain of rice. It's injected with a syringe." 

"Anything else, JARVIS?" Tony asked as Steve picked up his cat and cradled him against his chest.

"The cat is male, roughly nine pounds, which is clearly underweight for his size. Fully grown, but age is hard to determine without a close physical examination. No obvious wounds or illness, but I'd advise a visit to the veterinarian for a wellness exam and vaccinations. And microchipping." 

The cat was sniffing Steve's chin now, and Tony spotted a little pink tongue sneak out for a lick along the square jaw. The wet dream of generations of teenage boys and girls achieved by a nine-pound fleabag. 

Tony wisely kept that thought to himself. Ha, and Pepper always said he had no discretion! 

"Yeah, good," Tony said to JARVIS. "Find out who the best cat vet in Manhattan is and book Steve an appointment for tomorrow. Tell Happy to take him." He flipped through the cat care websites he'd pulled up on his tablet. "And rush order us some cat stuff—food, litter box, cat tree, carrier, toys, everything on this list."

"It shall be delivered within the hour, sir."

"Tony, you don't have to—do all this." Steve sounded uncomfortable. 

"Cat's moving into my tower, I'll make sure to set it—him—up nicely." He grinned at the team challengingly. "That's what I do with the strays I collect." Bruce and Clint grinned back, Thor smiled mildly, and Natasha glared daggers—but in that special way that meant she was joking. Probably.

Steve was—the look in his eyes was hard to read. But he touched a hand to Tony's and quietly said, "Thanks." 

Tony swallowed and nodded. "Sure." He reached out a hand and carefully petted the cat between the ears. The little creature pushed his nose against Tony's finger, which seemed like a good sign. Tony petted him again. The black fur was silky and soft despite the lingering wetness. "What're you gonna call him?"

"Um." Steve blinked. "I hadn't thought—"

"How about Blackie?" Clint suggested. 

Natasha elbowed him sharply. "That's a dog's name, idiot." 

The cat sneezed, which may have been coincidence, but Tony liked to think it was a comment on being given a boring name like that. 

"Biôrnólfr?" Thor smiled brightly. "It was the name of my first hound!"

Natasha smiled at him with a fondness she reserved entirely for Thor—unfairly, Tony thought. "Maybe something easier to pronounce." 

"Midnight?" Bruce ventured, gently touching a finger to the cat's nose.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "That's a girl's name."

"We could always call him Black Widower!" Tony grinned. Natasha was behind him and digging her fingers into his sides before he even saw her move. He grunted—definitely a grunt, not a high-pitched giggle at all—and squirmed away.

As soon as he had his voice under control, he turned to Natasha, raising an eyebrow. "Well, then—why don't you make a better suggestion, Miss Cat Name Expert?" He carefully stayed out of her reach, knowing full well it wouldn't do him a bit of good if she decided to pounce in earnest. 

Natasha smirked. "Nick Furry."

Steve threw back his head and laughed.

***

That night, Steve was sitting on the couch in the common living room, Nicky on his lap. Natasha and Thor were behind him, assembling what had to be world's most luxurious cat tree—four levels, five platforms, three caves, two tunnels and a hammock. Tony had disappeared to his workshop with the parts of the automated litter box, grumbling about crappy engineering and promising to bring it back twice as efficient and a quarter as noisy.

Bruce was sitting in his armchair, reading a book about veterinary medicine, and Clint was perched on the back of another chair, throwing little pieces of wadded-up paper at Nicky's nose and chuckling in delight when the cat managed every time to bat them away before they hit. 

Steve looked around him. He rubbed Nicky's soft neck and felt his gentle purr. 

Maybe the 21st century wasn't so cold and uncaring after all.

The End


End file.
